


Sharing Is Caring

by superhoney



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel in the Bunker, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Time, Fluff, Frottage, M/M, Post-Season 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 12:48:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7533382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superhoney/pseuds/superhoney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dean loses a few things he's rather fond of, but ends up gaining something even more precious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sharing Is Caring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RipUpTheEnding](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RipUpTheEnding/gifts).



> This is a gift for Liv, a.k.a RipUpTheEnding, who was having a bad day, and wanted something fluffy and cuddly and sexy. This is what I came up with. 
> 
> Set in some nebulous time post-Season 11, where the boys are all safe and back at the Bunker.

It starts with a blanket. 

Not just any blanket. A particularly soft, perfectly worn-in piece of fleece that Dean’s been using since they moved into the Bunker and he set up his room. It pairs so well with his memory foam mattress. Or it did, before it went missing.

Sam just rolls his eyes when Dean accuses him of taking it. “I didn’t steal your blanket, Dean. This isn’t a slumber party. It’s probably in the wash or something.”

“I’m the only one who does the laundry around here!” Dean exclaims. "So I think I would notice if that’s where it was.”

“Just grab another one from the storage closets,” Sam suggests with a sigh, like he can’t even deal with Dean’s dramatics right now. 

“They’re not the same.” Dean knows he’s being petulant, but he really likes that blanket, okay? He wants it back. 

Cas is sitting quietly beside Sam, with some enormous book about demons open on the table in front him. “What does it look like?” he asks. “I’ll keep an eye out for it.”

“Thank you!” At least someone understands the gravity of the situation. Good old Cas. Always dependable. “It’s dark blue, with a kind of satiny border. Big enough to cover my bed.”

Come to think of it, it’s the exact same shade of blue as Cas’ eyes. Huh. Weird. 

The blanket turns up in Dean’s room the next morning. He’s just come back from the shower, and there it is, sitting neatly folded at the edge of his bed. He picks it up and sniffs it cautiously. It smells clean. There’s no sign of how it got there, but he figures Sam was trying to start another prank war or something, but then gave up. Dean smiles to himself, absently stroking a hand across the soft fabric. It feels good. It feels right.

\---------

About a week later, Dean’s Dead Guy Robe goes missing. 

They’ve just gotten back from a hunt, some nest of vamps up in Nebraska. Dean’s more tired than he’s willing to admit, and all he wants to do is shower, put on his robe, and maybe watch a bad movie with his brother and Cas before going to bed. 

But his robe isn’t hanging on the back of his door. It’s not in the shower room, or in the laundry room, or in the spare bedroom that they’ve converted into a lounge for TV-viewing purposes. 

He finds Sam there, dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie. “Hey,” Sam says, twisting in his seat to look at him. “You wanna watch something?”

“What I want is my robe.” Dean’s too cranky to be polite about it. Messing with a man’s creature comforts is just low. 

“What, your Dead Guy Robe?” Sam makes a face. He still hasn’t come around on the whole wearing-a-dead-dude’s-stuff concept. Dean thinks he’s missing out, but since it also means more for him, he’s pretty okay with the situation. 

“Yes, Sam. What did you do with it?”

“Dude, just because your idea of a good time is messing with people’s stuff, doesn’t mean it’s mine,” Sam says firmly, turning his attention back to the TV. 

Dean stands there, fuming, for a few minutes before storming off. Screw watching a movie. He’ll just go sulk in his room and plot revenge instead.

He runs into Cas in the hall, wearing an outfit similar to Sam’s, but the t-shirt is huge on him, slipping down his shoulder to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of tan skin and collarbones. Dean’s eyes are immediately drawn to the spot, and then he tears his gaze away, hoping that Cas didn’t notice his ogling. 

“Are you going to bed?” Cas frowns at him. “I thought we were watching a movie.”

“Not anymore,” Dean says roughly. He feels bad when he sees Cas’ face fall, though. Just because Sam’s being a dick doesn’t mean Cas should have to suffer for it. 

Dean reaches out and clasps him by the shoulder. The one not completely covered by the cotton of his t-shirt. Dean can feel the slightest hint of Cas’ skin under his fingers, and he rests his hand there a bit longer than necessary. “Sorry, man. See you in the morning.”

“Have a pleasant sleep, Dean,” Cas says as he walks away. Dean’s eyes track his movements as he continues down the hall, admiring the way the fabric of Cas’ sweatpants cling to the curve of his ass. He’ll have good dreams about that sight. 

\--------

It all comes to a head two days later, when they’re getting ready to leave on another case, this one up in Wyoming. Something going after campers, leaving little behind but their gear. It sounds pretty gruesome, but Dean’s oddly looking forward to it. It’s a good old-fashioned monster hunt, and he likes the way those are becoming the norm for them again. 

They’ve got the car loaded up, and Sam’s already in the passenger seat when Cas exits the bunker. He looks different. Dean squints at him, trying to figure out what it is that’s changed. Since he’s been living with them, Cas has ditched the suit and trenchcoat combination, at least some of the time. But there’s something about that particular red shirt…

It’s Dean’s shirt. Why is Cas wearing Dean’s shirt?

“Dude, why are you wearing my shirt?” he asks. Yeah, so his brain-to-mouth filter isn’t working at full capacity. 

Cas looks down and smooths the fabric nervously. “It seemed most appropriate for the case,” he says, then gets into the car, leaving Dean standing there like an idiot. 

Cas’ explanation makes no sense. He’s got a bunch of shirts just like that, either hand-me-downs from Sam and Dean or picked up at thrift stores along their travels. Why would Dean’s shirt be the most appropriate for the case? 

Sam sticks his head out of the window of the car. “Dean, are we going or what?”

Dean shakes his head and gets in the car. He doesn’t have time to ask Cas what he meant, because Sam is blabbering on about the details of the case, and something tells Dean this isn’t a conversation he wants to have with his little brother around anyways. He keeps stealing glances at Cas in the rearview mirror. He looks good in the shirt. Really good. And Dean has always liked the way Cas rides in the Impala, like he’s a bit too good for cars, but if it has to happen, this one is the best option. 

The monster turns out to be a Wendigo, and they dispatch it pretty quickly. They even manage to get one of the last victims out of there alive, which is a nice bonus. They get the girl back home to her parents, and Dean drives away feeling pretty damn good about the whole thing.

So, still riding on the high of a case well closed, he confronts Cas about the shirt pretty much as soon as they get back to the bunker. Sam’s gone off to bed, and Dean and Cas are sitting in the lounge, bickering over what to watch, when he just decides to go for it.

“Seriously, though, Cas, why were you wearing my shirt earlier?” he asks. “I’m not mad, I just don’t get it. You’ve got plenty of stuff just like it.”

To Dean’s surprise, Cas flushes and looks down at his hands. “I didn’t mean to,” he says, sounding embarrassed. “I was rushing to get ready to leave, and I forgot I was wearing it.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t explain why you had it on in the first place,” Dean says. 

Cas squirms in his seat, but he seems to sense that Dean isn’t going to drop this anytime soon, so he takes a deep breath and answers. “Your things, they all have a history to them,” he explains, like he’s afraid Dean won’t understand. “Everything in this bunker is new to me. It’s like when I eat certain things, and all I can taste is the molecules. Fabric in particular retains feelings, experiences, memories. Everything of mine is so empty.”

“My things,” Dean repeats slowly. “Wait, was that you? With the blanket, and the robe?” So Sam hadn’t been messing with him after all. Whoops. He would apologize later. Good thing he hadn’t gotten around to enacting his revenge plan yet. That would have been awkward. 

Cas nods miserably. “I’m sorry. I gave them back as soon as I realized how much you missed them.”

He just looks so fucking sad, sitting there talking about the memory of fabric or whatever, that Dean doesn’t even think about it, just leans over and kisses him. Softly, with one hand coming up to cradle his face. Cas’ breath catches in surprise, but he presses his lips back to Dean’s without hesitation.

He pulls away after a minute, looking a little dazed. “Dean,” he says, and for all the times that Cas has said his name, it’s never sounded quite like this before. 

Dean smiles at him. “Yeah?”

“In light of what I just said, I don’t think this room is the best place for what I have in mind.” Cas gives him a significant look, patting the fabric-covered surface of the couch they’re sitting on. Dean bites back a laugh. He doesn’t think anyone other than an angel would pick up on these memories Cas is talking about, but he has a point anyways. Sam would throw an epic bitch fit if he found out that they got up to anything in the shared spaces of the bunker.

So Dean gets up off the couch, takes Cas by the hand, and leads him to his room. He eases him down onto the memory foam mattress (and huh, he’s never going to think of that the same way again), kissing him softly while he unbuttons Cas’ shirt. It feels smooth under his hands, but it’s nothing in comparison to the feeling of Cas’ bare chest, warm and alive and pressed so close to him. 

Cas tugs at Dean’s shirt in return, and he shrugs it off, tossing it carelessly into a corner of the room. Discarding clothes in moments of passion is pretty much the only time Dean is okay with making his room a little messy. Besides, it’s hard to think about anything else when Cas is spread out beneath him, flushed and trembling. 

His hands are sure and deft when they unbuckle Dean’s belt, though, and almost rough when he shoves Dean’s pants down over his hips. Dean peels them the rest of the way off and then returns the favour, leaving the two of them in just boxers. He can feel Cas hard against his hip, and it’s thrilling, finally being here with him like this. Dean’s wanted this for so long that he can barely a remember a time before Cas was the one starring in his hottest dreams. But it’s not just about the sex, it’s about the closeness, too. It’s about the way Cas looks up at him like he’s the most incredible thing he’s ever seen, and the way his eyes flutter closed when Dean presses a kiss right over his heart. 

There’s about a million things that Dean wants to do with him, but they’re both too wound up to do anything more than thrust against each other as they continue to kiss, gasping for breath and stuttering out fragments of affectionate sentences into each other’s ears. Cas comes first, his whole body going lax, and his eyes lighting up bluer than ever where they’re locked onto Dean’s. Cas grips him by the hips and presses them together tightly, and Dean’s lost, tipping over the edge into orgasm with Cas’ full name on his lips. 

Dean slides out of Cas’ embrace despite his protests, and grabs them some tissues to clean up with, then offers Cas a pair of clean boxers. “Had these for awhile,” he says cheekily. “I bet they’ve got all sorts of fun memories tangled up in them.”

Cas pulls them on, looking quite pleased. Dean laughs and turns out the light, then crawls back into bed with him. He pulls Cas into an embrace, and tugs his favourite blanket up over the two of them. He’s been rewarded for his bravery so far, so he rests his chin on Cas’ shoulder and whispers, “I love you.”

Cas turns around, and even in the dark, Dean can see that he’s smiling. “Oh, Dean,” he says, reaching out to stroke his face. Dean leans into the touch. “I love you, too.” He kisses him again, not like a question but like a declaration, and Dean returns the gesture. 

Then they snuggle back up, and Dean closes his eyes. He likes the thought of his mattress and his blanket bearing witness to that moment between he and Cas. He hopes they continue to do so for many nights to come. For now, though, he just pulls Cas in closer, and relishes the way their bodies fit together. It feels good. It feels right.


End file.
